


Sleep Song

by bloodyfandom



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anal Fingering, First Time, M/M, Oral Sex, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-14
Updated: 2014-05-14
Packaged: 2018-01-24 17:42:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1613705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodyfandom/pseuds/bloodyfandom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam helps Steve get a little sleep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sleep Song

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic in this fandom. As always, the author is evil. My lovely wife helps me with techbabble things because I'm hopeless *so if the science sounds wrong blame her! ;) kidding, kidding).

 “You know if you stay up for seven days straight without sleeping you go insane?”

Steve rubs at his eyes, the science journals and laptop screen are all blurry, the coffee cups hazy, he can't focus – not even on Sam's face barely ten feet away from him.

“I haven't been up for seven days...”

Sam glances at his watch, “If you stay up tonight it'll be four.”

“I _can't_ sleep...” Steve grinds out with frustration, pulling open yet another journal.

“Take a sleeping pill,” Sam counters, set of his shoulders stubborn, eyes flashing with something righteous.

“They don't _work_ on me!” Steve shouts, immediately mortified by his outburst, chin dropping to his chest as he grimaces, eyes slipping shut.

Face softening, Sam comes to the table, pulling out a chair and sitting down. He closes the laptop and faces Steve squarely.

“I told you that I'd help you find him.”

Steve scrubs a hand over his face, “I know, Sam...”

“But I'm not gonna help you run your ass into the ground.”

There's a heavy silence between them, Steve feels a stinging in his eyes and a lump in his throat, pushing up until a hot tear escapes down his cheek. Sam reaches out and grips his shoulder.

“Sorry,” Steve chokes out.

“You wanna sleep you actually gotta lie down, man. Relax? Meditate or something.”

Steve nods, ducking his head and reaching up to squeeze Sam's hand where it still rests on his shoulder.

“He's not gonna remember,” Steve says, words feeling strangled in his throat.

Sam blinks at the non sequitur and then shakes his head.

“Run that by me again?” Sam frowns.

“What they did to his brain is permanent. He might have some undamaged memories somewhere but whatever they erased is gone...I didn't want to believe it. I kept looking for...something. Something that would tell me there was hope but there isn't. He's never...he's not really Bucky anymore. Not the Bucky I knew. He never will be again.”

Sighing heavily, Sam gives Steve a sad smile, “Yeah. It's ok to grieve for that, man. Just remember you're not really the Steve he knew. You changed too.”

Steve nods and then shrugs, “A lot of the time I still feel like that scrawny kid from Brooklyn. I think all these muscles have made me dumber, though.”

Nodding, Sam chuckles, smile turning into something bright and warm. Steve finds himself smiling back.

Suddenly he's exhausted.

“I should get some sleep.”

“Smartest thing I've **ever** heard you say,” Sam huffs, shaking Steve a little.

Which makes Steve realize Sam can't really let go until _he_ does. He pulls his hand away, feeling a faint blush warm his cheeks. He only hopes the room is dim enough for it to go unnoticed.

Except Sam doesn't let go. He squeezes again, hand trailing up to the juncture of Steve's neck and shoulder, thumb resting on Steve's pulse point. Steve's breath hitches a little and he looks into Sam's eyes, hoping for an answer there. And he sees something, he does – he's just not entirely sure what.

“Sam?”

Sam's eyebrows shrug up, fast and questioning, but he doesn't respond otherwise – just watches Steve expectantly.

So Steve decides to lean forward, because...he's not really sure. Some intuition tells him that the answer he's looking for isn't in words but in the space between them. Sam leans forward too, gaze flicking between Steve's eyes and his lips, and Steve's been around enough to know this is going to end in a kiss.

And he is actually, really ok with that.

The first touch is tentative and electric, making Sam suck in a sharp breath, like static passed between them.

Steve feels the questioning touch of tongue on his lips, so he parts them, scooting to the edge of his chair to get closer. Sam takes the hint and edges in too, the outside of his knee pressing to the inside of Steve's. Sam brings his hands up to frame Steve's face, and Steve puts his hands on Sam's thighs, fingertips grazing the seam of Sam's jeans. The kiss deepens, the swipe of tongues over teeth and the ridges of palates, the sharpness of their breath as they struggle to maintain contact all sends a thrill up Steve's spine.

He wants more, closer. He stands suddenly, gripping Sam at the elbows but Sam needs no encouragement. He follows instantly, pulling Steve back to the kiss, pressing their bodies close. It's so natural to tilt their heads, slotting themselves together more firmly. Steve cups the back of Sam's head and Sam tangles the fingers of one hand into Steve's hair, pressing the other into the small of Steve's back.

Sam takes the first stumbling step backwards, towards the bedroom, not the fold out couch where Steve's been sleeping.

Well, where he's _supposed_ to be sleeping, anyway.

Like a good soldier, Steve follows, letting Sam turn them around at the bed until Steve's knees hit the mattress and he sits down hard, kiss broken. Sam's hands come up to his shoulders, squeezing, and he tilts his head, peering down at Steve with a smile as Steve palms at Sam's hips.

He likes the way Sam's hips feel, the jut of bone, the curve of muscle. He kneads there for a moment, tracing the contours with his thumbs before pressing his nose to Sam's stomach, breathing in the scent of soap and arousal.

Sam's hands smooth up the back of Steve's neck, to his head, palms pressing Steve in closer. So Steve rucks Sam's shirt up, starts kissing the skin he finds there, smiling when the muscles jump and twitch.

He nips a little, Sam's fingers tightening in his hair as he reaches up to undo the button on Sam's jeans, careful of the zipper as he drags it down. Sliding the denim lower, Steve nips again, listening to Sam gasp and mutter a curse.

When he pulls Sam's boxer briefs down, Sam's erection springs free, hitting him straight in the chin. Steve laughs, pressing his face against Sam's stomach and laughing harder when Sam starts chuckling too. He rubs his hint of stubble against Sam's skin, bites his hip just a little, feeling mischievous and weirdly unfettered all of a sudden.

Sam stops laughing when Steve grips his prick firmly and licks the head.

He likes the way Sam looks, the purple undertone to his erection, the way the hair trails from his belly button, dark and thick, framing jutting hardness. Steve suddenly craves the weight on his tongue, the salty-sharp taste of skin and arousal, the earthy smell. He takes Sam in, slow but deep, until he feels hair tickling his nose. He undulates his tongue, bobbing his head gently as he pulls back, gripping Sam's hips firmly to steady him. He pulls off completely, licking his lips, and looks up through his lashes, smirking at the thoroughly destroyed look on Sam's face.

“Let me know what you like,” Steve rumbles hoarsely.

“All of that,” Sam nods, voice breathy and wrecked. He runs his fingers through Steve's hair, encouraging him to do more.

“Ok...” Steve breathes, nuzzling at the base of Sam's prick, “Ok.”

He takes the hard length into his mouth again, slow and steady, back and forth, cheeks hollowing as he pulls away, tongue pushing as he returns. He's the ocean, he's the waves rocking against the shore, he feels liquid and strong. Sam is the rocks he's crashing against, the sand he's wearing away, the sky he's reflecting back, and the land he surrounds.

Sam is groaning, breath coming heavier, faster. He's the ocean breeze. The first spurt of cum teases Steve's tongue, so he presses the tip into the slit, chasing it. Sam chokes on an inhale, making a keening noise in the back of his throat, half strangled as it comes out of his nose. He's got a death grip on Steve's shoulders, fingers squeezing and releasing compulsively. His toes are curling in his trainers, hips desperately trying to thrust forward but Steve's grip is strong, steel, holding him steady and still.

Sam's whole body is rocking with it now and Steve teases the bundle of nerves under the head, sucking hard until Sam goes stiff, fingers digging into Steve's skin, body curling in. Steve puts an arm around Sam's hips, holding him up, sucking until he has to pull off to breathe, gasping in ragged breaths. He circles his hand around the head, drawing out the aftershocks of Sam's orgasm until Sam pulls back with a deep, shaky inhale.

“Damn,” Sam grunts, somehow managing to get his rubbery knees to support him as he stands.

Steve looks around for a waste basket or something to spit in, and catches Sam staring at him with a raised eyebrow. He doesn't expect Sam to crowd him back on the mattress and kiss him, hard and fierce and greedy. When Sam pulls back Steve swallows what's left in his mouth with a faint grimace and watches Sam lick his own lips with satisfaction.

“You like it?” he scoffs, brow furrowed and nose wrinkled.

With the shrug of one shoulder, Sam sets to pulling down Steve's sweats.

“Don't _dis_ like it.”

\--

Once he's tossed Steve's sweats aside, Sam kisses up the inside of his leg, pausing to suck and nibble at the soft skin of his inner thigh. It's a shame that any hickeys he leaves will be gone in a few hours because he thinks he'd like the look of Steve's thighs peppered with them.

“So what do you like?” he grins against Steve's skin, throwing the question back to him.

Steve bites his lip, prick straining towards the ceiling, fingers curling into the comforter. His shirt has ridden up around his chest and he's naked from the waist down. If it wasn't a spectacularly bad idea, Sam would take a picture.

“Do um...do you have any lube?”

“Yeah,” Sam smirks, shrugging his eyebrows.

Lifting up the leg Sam isn't half draped across, Steve worries his lower lip.

“I uh...ain't gettin' it up again any time soon,” Sam shakes his head with regret.

“I'd like it if you fingered me,” Steve says, not breaking their gaze, voice low and certain.

Something in Sam's gut tightens and he sucks in a breath through his teeth.

“Damn, man...yeah. Yeah, ok.”

Steve jerks his head towards the bathroom, “I'm gonna go get cleaned up.”

Mouth gone dry, Sam nods, his voice is thick and rough when he finally parts his leaps to speak.

“You need me to get you warmed up?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, mouth quirking up at one corner, “It's been a few decades.”

They chuckle, Sam ducking his head, peering up at Steve through his lashes as he laughs. He reaches up, thumbing at the spot where Steve's thigh meets his groin, wanting Steve to stay right where he is and wanting him to hurry the hell up and go so he can come back. He settles for leaning up and kissing him, biting at his already worried lower lip, before pulling away and pushing him in the direction of the bathroom.

A minute later there's the sound of running water and Sam kicks himself into gear, fishing around for lube and a couple of old hand towels. He considers stripping down but decides he kind of likes the idea of Steve all laid bare while he's still dressed. He does kick off his shoes, at least.

When Steve returns Sam pauses to admire the view, only moving so as to make room on the mattress for Steve to spread out. He doesn't keep his distance for long though – as soon as Steve's halfway settled, Sam crowds in close, kissing him, hand smoothing over his side and squeezing the swell of his ass. When he pulls out of the kiss he ducks his head down to worry at Steve's neck, scraping his teeth over the muscle, pulse beating a rhythm against his lips.

“How do you want me?” Steve rasps out, head tilted back and to the side to give Sam ample room to do what he wants.

“Mmm...” Sam rumbles against his collarbone, considering it for a moment, “make yourself comfortable.”

It takes them a second to pull apart but Steve finally manages to drag himself away, arranging some pillows under his hips as he lies down on his stomach. Sam only has to lay a hand on Steve's hip and Steve spreads his legs wider, body tense with anticipation. Sam bites his lip and shakes his head, smirking softly to himself.

Sam settles down, kissing along Steve's spine, hands spreading Steve's cheeks wide as he licks a broad swath from his perineum up and over his hole. Steve clenches and gasps, clutching the comforter, and Sam pauses to cement that image in his mind.

He doesn't pause for long. He does narrow his focus, keeping his tongue flat and wide, feeling Steve desperately try not wriggle underneath him. Every lick makes Steve's hips twitch, draws a gasping breath out of him. Sam licks until he feels that moment, that minute release of control and then he presses his tongue in, breaching that first ring of muscle. Steve's hips are thrusting fractionally as he pants hot, sticky breath into the bed. Sam listens to his breath hitching, to the choked moans and the shift of fabric as Steve's hands grip and push.

Sam feels the ebb and flow between them and at the same time he feels solid, like a mountain, and Steve is the sea beating against him. Steve is the mercurial one, shifting, changing, and Sam is the constant, the fixed point. He doesn't know what that means, he doesn't know what any of this means, or how it happened. He can't connect A to B. None of that slows down his insistent tongue.

Flicking open the cap, Sam coats a finger with lube, enjoying the slippery feel of it between his thumb and forefinger. He presses against Steve's hole with his thumb, circling, testing. After a minute of listening to Steve murmur pleading words under his breath, Sam pushes his index finger in to the first knuckle, glad he'd trimmed his nails this morning, glad he'd run out of lube and had actually thought to buy more the other day, glad for a universe that seemed to be conspiring to bring him to this moment...

Slowly, Sam works in that first finger, nuzzling at the small of Steve's back with his nose. He draws it back out at the same pace, nipping the skin where Steve's back curves into his ass. Steve sucks in a whimpering breath.

“You're killing me, Sam,” he chokes out.

“Yeah?”

Lubing up a second finger, he carefully presses in again, eyes falling shut as Steve's breath stutters and sticks in his throat, body trembling faintly. He decides that's enough for now and starts working in more lube, fingers sliding in and out of tight heat, thinking about what happens next time.

Next time he'll bend Steve in half and fuck him so slow time stops. He'll put on some Marvin Gaye because Steve will have no idea it's cliché and he'll see if he can memorize the pattern of Steve's molars with his tongue.

When he feels like Steve is slick enough he slides in a third finger and chuckles softly when Steve mutters a sharp curse.

“I need...Sam...can we...I need you to kiss me, damnit, I can't...” Steve tries to wriggle out from underneath the other man, but Sam holds him down with a gentle hand.

“Gimme a minute,” Sam says, voice rough and low, “turn on your side, ok?”

“Ok...,” Steve grunts, “fuck, Sam, you're killing me.”

Pausing halfway to the bathroom, Sam curses refractory periods, staring at Steve with lust. Steve cursing should not be such a huge turn on. Steve asking to get fingered...God, if he stops to think about any of this too much it's going to ruin him. He'll never be able to function again.

So Sam shuts off his brain, goes to the bathroom and gargles a healthy swig of mouthwash, scrubbing his lower face with hand soap.

“Sam?” Steve calls out, voice filled with need and uncertainty.

Sam spits, rinses and dries his face, and double times it back to bed.

“Hey,” he smirks, sliding in close and grabbing the lube up again.

Face to face, he can see how wrecked Steve is, and just a hint of self-consciousness. He ignores it, because he knows what Steve wants, because Steve told him, and he fully intends to give Steve exactly what he wants. He pulls Steve's leg over his hip, bare skin against denim, and slicks his fingers back up. Sliding them back and under, he watches the moment he pushes in, watches Steve's eyes flutter shut, watches Steve bite his lip and release a high, strained moan through his nose.

“Thought you wanted to be kissed?”

Steve presses his face closer, eyes still shut.

“Yeah, so kiss me already.”

Shuffling a little, Sam puts his free arm under Steve's head and captures his lips in a commanding kiss. He takes his time with it, thrusting his tongue in time with his fingers. Steve's hands grip Sam's shirt, one fisted over his breastbone and the other clinging to his side. Steve doesn't seem able to manage anything resembling coherence – either in action or words at this point. Even when Sam pulls back to suck and kiss at Steve's neck, all Steve can do is murmur nonsense in Sam's ear.

Sam adjusts a little, angling his hand to get his fingers a little deeper, adding more lube, increasing his speed. He wishes he had more hands, thinks about crazy scientists – like Stark – and immediately informs the universe that no, really, two hands is actually sufficient.

Then he can't think about anything but Steve.

Steve slowly shaking apart beneath him, hips thrusting minutely against nothing, Steve breathing obscenities and sweet nonsense into his mouth, Steve who's asking for just a little more, please, God, please just a little more. One more finger, a little faster, a little...just like that, so perfect. Sam listens and bites his lip, crashes their mouths together in a burning hot kiss and swallows Steve's moan as the other man cums.

He milks him until he can't get anything more, and then Sam draws his fingers out, slow and careful as he'd gone in, before pressing their foreheads together.

“Good?”

Steve nods wordlessly, breath heaving out of him as he comes down.

“Good.”

With that Sam gets up, and heads back for the bathroom. He's not particularly happy that Steve's cum got all over his favorite shirt, but at least it's not on his bed. He strips down to his boxers, washes his hands and heads back to bed only to find Steve half asleep on top of the covers.

“Nope. Nuh-uh,” he shakes his head.

Steve inhales deeply, startling awake, “Huh?”

He looks around, realizes he's effectively naked on Sam's bed, and blushes, surging to his feet.

“Sorry, I'll...”

He gets exactly two steps away before Sam pulls down the covers and pushes him right back down.

“Most people sleep under the sheets,” Sam smirks.

“Oh...right. I should probably...uh...put on some...”

“Nope,” Sam shakes his head, “Just get in the way in the morning.”

“In the morning?” Steve blinks.

“When I fuck you through the mattress,” Sam clarifies, smiling at Steve's full body shudder of lust.

Climbing over Steve, Sam slides under the covers, setting the lube on the nightstand and tossing all the other detritus from their sexual exploration onto the floor. Before Steve can make it awkward, which Sam is sure he's good at, he hauls Steve close, divesting him of his last article of clothing, his t-shirt.

Sure enough, Steve is momentarily stiff against him, and seems geared up to say something until Sam presses a warm kiss into his hair.

“Night, Steve.”

Sighing softly, Steve settles in, arm wrapping around Sam's waist and cheek resting on Sam's chest.

“Night, Sam.”

In less than a minute, Steve is completely asleep. Sam feels something inside, some cord stretched tight, finally loosen and relax. He settles down and breathes in the scent of Steve and the still lingering smell of sex. The air conditioning cycles on, the hum and bustle of the city a now familiar lullaby.

He presses one final, tired kiss into Steve's hair, and closes his eyes.


End file.
